Western cyclone., 1887-05-12

his debts were paid TO give up all
business and live on his wife's income.
And not until Mary had given her
love past recall was the old wrong
brought forward to hurl at her lover.
They were young, in love and hoped
for forgiveness, and so one sunshiny
morning they stepped through the
open church door, and came out, man
and wife.
1t may have been, had Hugh Brad
lev interfered little sooner, he might
have gained his will. But when he
told his daughter to make her choice
between her father and her lover, that
lover had been Mary's husband for
week, and no thought of leaving him
was possible.
Her father went abroad, not return
ING until an incurable disease sent him
home to die Robert Bradley answered
his letter, imploring him to come and
live with him in person, nursed him
faithfully, gave him a sons devotion,
and never ceased importuning him to
alter the will that made his daughter
penniless and enriched his nephew.
Only few weeks had passed since
the old home had been made ready for
its master, but in those weeks the dis
ease that had been progressing slowly,
made swifter advances towards the
end, and both men knew that before
long the old home must have new
master. Should that master be Robert
Bradley or Walter Hallett?
The old man who must decide that
sat where his nephew had left him,
deep in painful thought. He must die!
That he knew, for there could be no
self-deception there. Die, and leave
his only child to starve! What was it
Robert had told him?
II have had letters telling me that
Walter Hallett is hopeless invalid,
crippled by a railway accident, and
Mary supports him by giving music
lessons. Mary, delicate, used to luxury,
tramps about in all kinds of weather,
going to her pupils, coming home to
nurse and comfort her husband, and
do the drudgery of their poor home.
She will not accept charity, and she
has never forgiven me for urging her
not to marry against your will. So he
struggles on as she best can. Three
children lie in the cofins who might
have lived with proper food and cloth
ing. Uncle Hugh, do not take two
murders on your soul, l pray you!
They will die if you do not relent"
That was what Robert had said. The
invalid reached out his arm and opened
a drawer in the desk beside him. 1t
opened reluctantly, as if it had been
long closed, and inside lay bundle of
letters.
What made him read them? 1t was
years since the tiny child's hand had
penned that "Dear Papa" that
stretched in uneven lines half across the
sheet. Only a few lines in each letter,
written when the child was in the
country with an aunt. But the few
lines all bore the same burden of child
ish distress.
''It is nice here, but | want to come
home to my dear papa" Or, please,
please, papa, come here to Mary, OF let
me come home to YOU"
He read them all; but the last one
was in the flowing hand of a woman,
and it told the story of that other love,
stronger than that of child for parent.
But there was no anger in his face as
he read, only white terror, as if he
feared his hour too brief for his work.
He drew up sheet of paper within
reach, and wrote his will again,-very
brief, very plain. Everything was left
to his daughter, and in case of her
death without children, to his nephew,
Robert Bradley.
As the invalid signed his name, his
physician came in, and one look at his
patients face brought him quickly
across the room.
Don't mind me-" Mr.. Bradley
whispered, the beads of perspiration
starting on his forehead. Sign that
as witness. Ring for a servant to sign.
Quick!-quick! There is no time to
loSer'
A quick jerk of the bell brought a
servant and Robert, and the invalid
gasped out the few wOrDs,-
"Sign-my will-my signature-you
are witnesses.
Then, hours of agony, ending in
death.
1t was a week later when Robert
Bradley stood at the door of lodging
house in one of the poorest streets
in Westminster, listening to woman,
who was speaking rapidly but
not without feeling.
Yes, sir, telegram came for Mrs.
Hallett, but it was on the day she
buried her husband. Yes, sir, he died,
and suffered more than tongue can tell.
She had to give up her teaching, and
she's sold everything she could turn
into money. She read the telegram,
and she smiled-it was just awful, sir.
that 'smile-and whispered. too later
And she scarcely speaks, but sits there
with her hands in her lap. Sometimes
l can coax her to bed, sometimes she
only shakes her head, and it's the same
about eating. If l put cup of soup to
her lips, she drinks; but she's just dy-
ing of grief, sir. hope you are some
kin to her. sir. that can see to her be-
ing cared for. do the best | can, but
I've big family and a house full of
dodgers. l cannot do much for her,
poor thing"